On the last day I took her to the river and showed her the roses that were so priceless to me, and so paralleled her own blossoming beauty. At that place she finally felt freedom within her grasp, and romance, and adventure. I knew the truth though; the world would ruin her. I wanted her to be perfect, I wanted her to stay this way forever. I wanted her to be beautiful and stay this way, because I knew there was a moment, a moment of perfection. Where all barriers are dropped and neither God nor the demons of hell intervene. But winter comes and petals fall, flowers die without elegance or grace, ghosts of their former glory remain, all twisted and dry. A perverted remnant of what was. Claimed. I wanted her to be mine, mine to claim. Not time's or God's or nature's. Mine. She deserved more than to have to suffer through this toilsome purgatory, I was merciful. I know I was, because God hasn't said a word nor dimmed the skies for some great misdeed as he had for his son, because I have shown the ultimate mercy and made sure she was mine. All beauty must die, and as she lay on the bank with her sweet, rosy cheeks, her eyes smiled at the mercy I had shown. I kissed her goodbye, I had made her all mine, I lay her down in the waters where a gentle tide kissed her cheeks. I leant down and planted a rose 'tween her teeth, my sweet Wild Rose. MY sweet.
On the third day he took me to the river and showed me the roses that captured his lonesome heart, I smiled and was happy, he made me feel like I wasn't just some girl, a novice at life's pursuits. We kissed and at that moment him I trusted completely, him I would follow. He made me see I needed him, he even promised to adopt the way of God for me, him not bein' a holy man. I thought... I thought he loved me... You don't hurt the ones you love do you? Or do you? But the last thing I heard was a muttered word as he knelt above me with a rock in his fist. My body, I saw my body, pale and cold. Why? I don't understand. He left me there all bloody in the water, everythin' shattered, all dreams gone. I was there two days later when they foun' me, when they dragged me upon the bank. When Pa cried out. When the posse rode out. They call me The Wild Rose now, why do they call me that? I do not know. He called me that, he stole my heart, exorcised my soul. Now he owns my name, no one seems to want to know. My name was Elisa Day. My name is Elisa Day. Elisa Day. The name they refuse to say, but the one thing I refuse to let him take, my name is Elisa Day, and I will never forget, never forgive. He murdered me.
YOU ARE READING
The Wild Rose.
Cerita PendekA short story set in the old west following a young girl whose life is completely changed by a stranger coming into town, for better or for worse though?
